War Zones
by Mourilyon
Summary: After Sherlock's 'suicide' John manages to get a place back in the army in an attempt to distract himself. 2 years later Sherlock reappears and the two have to figure out how they will move on with their lives together, and the serial killer targeting ex-soldiers is not making life any easier. These two can never catch a break. Sherlock / John eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Okay hold still, I'll get you stitched up as soon as I can." John yelled over the fire of machine guns as he dragged on of his comrades to shelter behind a barricade.

Explosions could be heard somewhere nearby, thankfully not close enough to require immediate evacuation, but near enough to cause concern. John tried not to allow this to distract him as he yanked open his medical bag and began to pull debris out of the wounds on his fellow soldier. Wounds like this were always had to deal with. Improvised explosives made from nail, scrap metal and whatever could be easily accessed may not cause the most wide ranging or critical damage but for the people unlucky enough to have been close to the explosion there was a lot of pain and were hard to treat quickly.

"Doctor Watson! Quickly we need help!"

John was still in the process of attending to the wounds on the patient in front of him when two more men were dragged towards him. One had sustained a bullet wound to the leg which wasn't critical but needed the bleeding to be stopped soon, the other had received a shot to somewhere on the shoulder or base of the neck, the wound was bleeding profusely making it difficult to tell at a first glance.

"Alright I need you to make a tourniquet around the top of Private Stevens' leg to slow the bleeding. Get Corporal Miller further away from the front. I'll deal with Sargent Collins here. Now! Move it!" It amazed John to a certain degree how he managed to readjust himself to giving orders like this again, as though it was his second nature.

He applied pressure to Sargent Collins neck to stop the flow and find where the wound was located. Then came the hard task of stitching the wound and making sure the man didn't bleed to death.

* * *

It had been 6 months since the day John Watson's previous life had come to a sudden and traumatic halt. The 6 months had dragged on and blurred together into what seemed like a lucid dream or more accurately nightmare. 6 months since his best friend had jumped off the roof and ended his life.

It had happened by chance. On one unidentified day of the week which seemed like every other John had decided to walk into a coffee shop. Coincidentally one of the men he had served with in Afghanistan was there sitting there idly and looking completely at peace.

"_It's not fair" _was the first thought that went through John's mind. When he had first come back from the war he had been plagued by nightmares and suffered from flashbacks. His psychiatrist had not been able to help him, the only thing which had helped him was meeting Sherlock and being thrown back into a war zone, a very different type of war zone mind you but dangerous and unpredictable none the less. However now that Sherlock had died the dreams had returned full force and John had noticed that his psychosomatic limp would reappear and disappear again seemingly at random. In short he was a wreck.

"John is that you? It is! How've you been?"

It took John a second to shake himself out of his thought before putting on a fake smile and answering.

"It's good to see you again Benjamin. You back for good or just on leave?"

"Oh just on leave, I'll be heading back end of the month. And I don't know how many times I've told you by now but I'll say it again, just call me Ben."

The two settled back down at Benjamin's table and proceeded to talk about inane pointless things:

"_How's the weather?" "Did you see the footy last night?" "Did you hear that this celebrity did that?" _

After what felt to John like an eternity of mindless babble the topic of the war surfaced.

"We've been having a rough patch lately. Our medic got injured and had to be sent home and we've not been able to find a replacement yet. We need more people like you to sign up for the army, things would go a lot better if that were the case."

And with those words a switch flicked on in John's mind. This is what he needed: an opportunity to distract himself, to make himself so busy that he wouldn't have time to mope over Sherlock. Now all he needed to do was pose his response in the correct way and convince the right people he was still fit for service. He was already at a good starting point Benjamin had been promoted to the rank of General not long ago

"What if I said that I was interested in reenlisting? Would that be possible?" He watched the expression on Benjamin's face closely, he mightn't have been as good at observing as Sherlock but he could read human faces extremely well.

He saw a look of surprise flit over the other man's face before it was replaced by a look of excited hopefulness. Nothing to suggest amusement or disbelief so John figured he was off to a good start.

"You pulling my leg? Seriously John you were one of the best, only an idiot would say no to allowing you back into the fold." After taking a pause to think he continued. "You know what, I'll have a word to a few other people and we'll see what we can do, also that'll give you a few days to think it over. Oh this'll be fantastic mate, just like old times."

During the conversation that followed John found himself getting excited about something for the first time in months. He had always thought of himself as an adrenalin junkie and the more that happened to him the more this theory was proven to be accurate.

Walking out of the coffee shop with purposeful steps John knew what he needed to get done, first he needed a clean bill of health both from a doctor and his psychiatrist. He had enough friends in the clinic to help him with that and as for his psychiatrist that Mycroft had suggested he fire for being incompetent so he figured it wouldn't be outside his abilities to convince her to give him a clean bill of health. That last though stopped him in his tracks.

Mycroft. He would have to get past Mycroft. While he had not seen the man in months the CCTV cameras still swivelled as he walked past and he would occasionally find deposits into his bank account from a very generous, anonymous donor.

Pulling out his phone he scrolled through his old messages until he found Mycroft's number.

'_I'm guessing you know what I'm referring to when I say this: Don't interfere and bugger off. - JW'_

To say he was surprised when he saw a sleek black car waiting outside his apartment when he got home would have been a lie. With a sigh he walked directly over to the car and climbed in not even bothering to address the woman on the back seat beside him. The car began to drive to an unknown location and John new that when they reached their destination he would have to argue with and try to convince the British Government aka Mycroft Homes to allow him to go back to Afghanistan. Oh this was going to be fun.

* * *

The car pulled up outside of parliament house and John was lead through the labyrinth of hallways by one of the many staff members. Arriving outside a set of large mahogany doors he was instructed to proceed inside.

Inside the room Mycroft was sitting at the large, almost throne like, chair behind his desk looking as imposing as he always did during these meetings.

"Well" sighed John "Here I am. Just say whatever you feel the need to and then let me get going, I have things I need to be doing."

"Yes, like booking an appointment with your … psychologist, for lack of a better word to describe her. I assume you are aware that all it would take is one brief phone call from me and you would never be able to get the documentation you require to join the army again. Please, have a seat"

"Thanks but I'd rather stay standing, I won't be here long. Listen Mycroft, I could understand your meddling in my life when Sherlock was still… before Sherlock... previously" John stook a deep breath before clearing his throat and continuing "but now you have no reason to but into my business."

"On the contrary Doctor Watson, I have every right. You and my brother are the only two people who, after finding out who and what I am, still find it objectionable to following my instructions." Mycroft leaned forward so that his elbows were resting on his desk. "Please, think about what you are trying to do. I may not have been close to my brother on a personal level but I know enough to be able to say with no uncertainty that this is not what he would have wanted you to do."

"Look I don't think you should have a say in my life and I really don't think that I need to be living my life according to the wishes of a dead man!" John regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He shut his eyes before sitting on the chair which Mycroft had offered to him earlier and resting his head in his hands.

"Listen Mycroft, as odd as this may sound, I do know what Sherlock would have wanted, in some ways I think I may even know him better than you do. But I _can't_ keep living like this. I need to find something to do to distract myself or I'll go mad. Please understand." He looked up at Mycroft imploringly, his mind was not in a state to put together a well-constructed or convincing argument, and even if it was that wouldn't be enough to persuade Mycroft if he had his mind set on something.

He could see the wheels turning in Mycroft's head as he weighed the pros and cons.

"Very well. Oh, and you shan't need to go to you psychiatrist, I'm sure if I have a brief phone call with her that will be all that is needed." With that Mycroft stood and walked over to John before shaking his hand. "Well Doctor Watson, I guess this is goodbye for a short time, or at least the last time I will be seeing you in person for some time."

"I don't think I've ever said this before, or had the thought of saying this cross my mind, but thank you Mycroft."

And with that John walked out of the office. Looking out of his window Mycroft saw that John had been escorted to the awaiting car before being driven back to his temporary apartment.

'_At least I won't have to Sherlock about this anytime soon. I know I've done many things to anger him in the past but this may just be my greatest achievement.' _

Mycroft walked back to his cabinet and poured himself a glass of wine.

"Ah well, I guess we'll just have to see where this path leads us all."

* * *

End of Chapter 1. Hope someone out there like it. Constructive criticism would be much appreciated.

Sherlock will be appearing next chapter. Hope to get that up either tomorrow or the day after. See you then. =)

Also this will eventually be Sherlock / John but nothing too outrageous.

I wish you all good dreams and nightmares.  
~Mourilyon~


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again, I forgot to put this on the first chapter so:

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters. I do however believe that I own the plot to this story. If I am inadvertently coping someone else's work I apologise.

Secondly, I am keeping what Sherlock was doing during the two years he was pretending to be dead the same as in the series. Also some of the dialogue and events are from the first episode of season 3.

Thankyou for your time. Now, on with the show…

**Chapter 2**

Being beaten up and interrogated by criminals has never been on Sherlock's list of things he wants to happen however as this was the very last thread that needed to be severed to undo Moriarty's complex web of criminals it seemed that the pain was worth it. What he felt wasn't worth it though was his brother's air of smugness that Sherlock had needed his help to get out of a situation. Although something that Sherlock noticed once he had been treated was that his brother seemed apprehensive about something.

Sherlock had just finished putting a clean set of clothes on when his brother began to speak with him again.

"I need you to give this matter your full attention, is that clear?"

'_Oh, here it starts again, pretending he can give me orders.'_

"What do you think of this shirt? I will find you underground terrorist cell Mycroft. Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again. Breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart."

At this point Mycroft's assistant, Anthea or whatever she was choosing to call herself today, felt the need to join the conversation.

"One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter all the traffic confirms that there is going to be a terrorist strike on London. A big one."

Why did they feel the need to tell him this, there was always a terrorist attack planned on some city, both of them seemed too uneasy about such a trifling matter. The only explanation could be that they had some other information that they thought was needed to be broken to him at the right time. But what on earth did they think he cared about enough for it to matter…

_John. _

There had to be something going on with John Watson.

"And what about John Watson?"

"John?"

_Oh play dumb if you want Mycroft, but I will find out what's going on._

"Have you seen him?"

The tension in the air felt so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Sherlock felt a strange tightness in his chest, he believed that most people referred to this feeling as nervous, usually he associated this feeling with high risk and concerning scenarios but this was neither so why was he feeling it now?

"Sherlock there are more pressing matters at hand, the terrorist strike could happen at any time it needs to be our primary focus. Now I'll arrange you to be placed back in Baker Street then we can begin…"

"Mycroft!" Sherlock cut off his brother quickly "You know I am not patient, why won't you tell me anything about John Watson? If you don't tell me I just go straight to Baker Street and surprise John. Who knows, maybe jump out of a cake."

"I'm afraid he isn't at Baker Street anymore."

Sherlock tuned to face his brother and stared at him with a blank face waiting for him to elaborate. He could feel the tightness in his chest moving into his throat and felt as though if he tried to speak his voice would fail him.

"Sherlock, as I'm sure you are aware, your friend was never one to sit quietly and twiddle his thumbs. He's an adrenaline junkie, he needs to be active and for some strange reason feels the need to endanger himself to _be _himself. So he found a way to achieve that without you."

"What has happened to him Mycroft? Where is he?!"

Mycroft walked over to his desk and pulled out a file before giving Sherlock a glance to judge his current state before sighing and handing his brother the folder which contained the records of John's reenlistment and his activities in Afghanistan over the previous 18 months.

"He's back in Afghanistan? He shouldn't have even been allowed to go back without… Mycroft what did you do and more importantly, why?" Sherlock felt his pulse accelerate, he was becoming agitated, he needed to calm down.

Sherlock began flipping through the folder looking for the needed information to fill in the blanks.

"It's all in the report but I'll cover the basics brother. John resumed seeing his psychiatrist again. The tremor in his left hand has returned. His psychosomatic limp was on the verge of returning. And according to reports his sleep was more disturbed after your fall than when he first retuned from the war. In summary, John was more affected by your 'suicide' than being shot. What do you think that says about him?" Mycroft finished off his report with a look on his face which seemed to scream _'and what are you going to do about it?'_

Sherlock handed the folder back to Mycroft before slumping down into a chair and rubbing his face with his hands. Mycroft was reminded of the conversation he had had with John a year and a half ago. It was a lose-lose scenario either together or apart the two of them were difficult to deal with.

"Right, when does John get back?"

"Another 6 months or so. He was signed up for a 2 year period and with all the rules which had to be bent to get him there in the first place it would be ill advised to remove him before the end of that time frame."

Anthea stepped forward with another folder.

"This is the information we have on his movements and behaviours since he has been abroad." She said flipping through the pages. "We sent one of our agents with him, without his knowledge of course. So far all reports indicate that since leaving he has improved."

"So, how do you suggest we proceed?" asked Mycroft as he held his brothers signature coat out to him. "You've been proven innocent of your '_crimes' _and bringing you back to life should prove fairly easy. I dare say we won't even have to release any kind of story or explanation."

Sherlock stood from his chair and pulled his coat on and tried to shut thoughts of John out of his head.

"Right, first thing I need to do is see Lestrade, get back in with the police. The Mrs Hudson, I assume 221B is still vacant, of course it is you would have prevented anyone from moving back in. Once I'm back in London I can get my homeless network out and looking for you terrorist. Simple." Sherlock said as he strode towards the door.

"Back to the subject of John Watson. Should I arrange for him to be told that you are alive?" asked Mycroft.

Sherlock paused but didn't turn to look at his brother. "Don't tell him anything. It will only complicate matters and distract him. I've lived the majority of my life without him, I'm sure I'll be fine for another few months."

And with that Sherlock walked out the door to the car waiting for him outside and directed the man to drive to Scotland Yard. He couldn't wait to see the expressions on peoples' faces when they found out that he was still breathing. Some would be happy, some would rather he still be dead and some may punch him. He imagined John would fall into the latter category.

There was that train of thought again. John, John, John. Was there nothing else he could think about? He had to admit that his friend had crossed his mind a number of times while he was 'dead' but he had been so busy destroying Moriarty's organisation he had been able to draw his mind away from those thoughts. Seemed like an imminent terror strike on London was not enough to occupy his mind. Instead he leaned his head back onto the headrest of the car seat and allowed his mind to wander and play out the differing ways in which John Watson could react upon discovering that he was alive.

The first, and most likely option, was getting punched, which although it wouldn't be pleasant he felt he could deal with. From there two things could happen: John could get his anger out then accept him back and everything would be fine. Or John could continue to be angry at him and refuse to allow him back. Sherlock frowned at that thought before shaking it off and picturing other options.

Another less painful and more amusing reaction was that John may be so overcome with shock that he may pass out. Although with John's temper and nerves of steel that was an unlikely outcome.

If he was looking at the situation through rose tinted glasses he could see John welcoming him back with open arms and everything going immediately back to the way everything was before. Even less likely as John had been known to hold grudges over minor things like using up all of the milk for experiments and keeping body parts in the fridge.

An option which would be worse than being punched was the possibility that John would immediately reject him. Refuse to even let him explain. If what Sherlock had seen in the files and what Mycroft had said was true then Sherlock was not sure he had it in himself to blame John if he did this. But how to get around it. If talking couldn't get through to John then maybe something more physical would. He could see it in his mind he could grab John and hold him close, refusing to let him go until Sherlock had been able to get through to him and explain. He could hold John close to his chest and if he tried to protest Sherlock could imagine himself pressing his lips against the shorter man's, gently applying pressure until he understood how sorry Sherlock was… that he…

Where was that train of thought leading?! John was his friend, his best friend in fact, why would he imagine doing that to him. Sherlock took a deep breath before going through the list of elements in his head, in reverse alphabetical order. He wouldn't waste any more time thinking about this. He was almost at the police station and he wouldn't be seeing John for another couple of months he had no reason to think about John. None at all.

* * *

"So have you thought about how you're going to tell John then?" was the first thing that DI Lestrade asked over he had gotten over his initial shock and 'why?' and 'how?' and 'you bastard!' had been exclaimed.

"No, well sort of." Sherlock sighed "But he won't be back for months so why should I bother to think about that now?"

"Yeah but you really need to tell him I'm sure you can get in touch if you just…"

"Look Lestrade" Sherlock cut off the other man. "I have enough to think about with 'coming back from the dead' and dealing with my brother and an impending terrorist strike I don't need to think about something unnecessary and superfluous as John Watson."

'_Liar' _his mind provided unhelpfully in a voice that sounded very much like John.

"I know you're busy Sherlock but at the very least… wait '_impending terrorist strike'_? What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing much, just a little job my brother wants me to work on. Nothing special." Sherlock said airily shutting down any further lines of inquiry the Inspector may have. "If I find myself in need of police aid in the future I'll let you know. Now as pleasant as this is I have to go see Mrs Hudson, she's probably thrown out all my experiments, guess I'll have to get them going again. Good bye Lestrade, I assume you'll be getting in touch with me soon."

And with that Sherlock swept out of the room feeling very good about the somewhat baffled look the DI had on his face. The only thing which put a dampener on his moods was that voice whispering in his mind again, the one which sounded uncannily like John, reminding him he had forgotten to put his collar up.

Sherlock picked up a taxi then asked them to drive to the morgue. First he had to let Molly know that he was alive and that the plan had been a complete success and secondly there was that voice reminding him that he should say thankyou. He hoped that the voice wouldn't continue to interrupt his thought and drag his mind back to the topic he was trying, futilely it seemed, to stop himself from thinking about. That topic being John Watson and why in one of his potential scenarios he had imagined not only hugging the man but kissing him as well. He shouldn't be thinking things like that, he never thought like that. But at the same time he found that gentle voice strangely reassuring and comforting.

* * *

He found Molly in the locker rooms of the morgue. As soon as she saw him in the mirror she gasped but then a smile stretched across her face as she spun around.

"You're back! Welcome home, how are things? Are you okay now, I mean I know that everything with the press has been cleared up, but you've been away for so long."

"Everything is fine Molly. I actually came here to say thankyou for helping me. This wouldn't have worked without you so you have my gratitude."

A light blush spread across Molly's face as she replied. "That's odd, you aren't normally this polite without prompting form… oh I assume you already know about John."

John. Again. Why did everybody feel the need to remind him about John?

"Yes Molly, I know about John, but I don't need to do anything about that just yet. I do need some more specimens quite immediately, I'm moving back into Baker Street and I fear that Mrs Hudson will have thrown out all of my experiments by now. I'll be seeing you again soon Molly."

And with that he turned and walked out the door. And this time he remembered to flip his coat collar up. The voice didn't bother him and he found himself missing it already, maybe next time he would forget to turn it up on purpose.

The final place he needed to go today was 221B Baker Street to talk to Mrs Hudson. He hoped the woman wouldn't get too much of a shock. But then again this was a woman who had witnesses her husband commit double murder and her only reaction was relief so he supposed that he couldn't do too much damage.

When the taxi pulled up outside of the familiar building Sherlock walked up to the door and opened it with a key which Mycroft had conveniently left in his coat pocket. He could hear Mrs Hudson washing up in the room just a bit further along the hall so he tapped on the wall to let her know he was there.

He heard the water stop running before the woman walked into the main room before dropping the frying pan she had been holding and let out a surprised yell at the sight of him. She then took a deep breath and strode over and embracing him muttering things like 'I can't believe you're really alive' and 'I can't believe you'd do this to everyone' under her breath.

"Hello Mrs Hudson. I assume my old room is still available." Sherlock said with a slight smile on his face once she had calmed herself.

So far everything was settling back into place nicely, now all he had to do was prevent a terrorist attack and figure out why his mind kept wandering back to John Watson. Oddly enough the latter sounded like a more difficult task.

* * *

End of Chapter 2. Hope someone out there like it. As I said at the end of chapter 1: constructive criticism would be much appreciated.

**Next chapter: **John finds out that Sherlock is still alive and returns from Afghanistan. Also a new case begins and the perpetrator seems to only be targeting ex-military personnel.

Thankyou to the people who added this to their follows or favourites that was very flattering and I appreciate it very much.

I'll try to get the next chapter uploaded soon but I can't make any promises about exact dates.

Until next time,

I wish you all good dreams and nightmares.  
~Mourilyon~


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